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caused by his sudden appearance. She licked her lips, so suddenly dry, and looked up at the brown, square-jawed face with its wide mouth and high, smooth cheekbones, disturbed as she had never been
    before by him, but reluctant to recognise it.
    “You’re gripping me too tightly,” she told him, trying to steady her voice. “Please let me go, Mr. Connor.”
    He merely smiled, a wider and slightly less bitter smile this time, and somehow it seemed to make him oddly vulnerable as he turned his gaze on her captive arm, as if he could actually see it. “I was rather pleased with myself,” he told her. “You might at least sound as if you’re pleased with me for being able to judge just where to grab your arm.” “You were waiting for me?” she asked instead, and he shrugged.
    “Yes - I suppose I was. At least I thought it was you I could hear in the kitchen talking to Lucia.”
    “It was,” Leonora said quietly. “And now will you please let go my arm? You’re hurting me.”
    He did not release her, but merely eased the tightness of those long, strong fingers round her wrist and the ball of his thumb began to move slowly, gently caressing on the softness of her skin. “Have you come to see Scottie?” he asked, and she hesitated.
    “I - I came to bring some fish over for Roberto,” she told him, but knew he would see through that as her main reason.
    It was disturbing, so close to him like this, and she wished she could break his hold on her without appearing harsh and unfeeling. Probably in his blindness he felt the need for human contact, and she had not the heart to deprive him of it simply because his touch made her uneasy.
    He was wearing a shirt of such spotless whiteness that it showed off his golden tanned skin to perfection, open to the waist and revealing the inevitable medallion on its gold chain resting on the broad chest. Cream-coloured trousers emphasised the long, straight length of his legs, and the feet that were planted firmly apart on the sun-dappled terrace paving were without shoes of any kind. The overall effect, combined with his mop of blond hair, was earthy and unbelievably exciting, despite his disability.
    “Are you still running errands for the local fishmonger?” he asked. His smile, showing excellent teeth, was a little less bitter than the twisted caricature that he most often showed.
    “Roberto’s a fisherman, not a fishmonger,” she corrected him quietly. “And I see nothing wrong in helping out a neighbour in moments of crisis.”
    He was still smiling and he still held on to her wrist, but his fingers were so gently smoothing on her skin that they sent little shivers of warning along her spine as she stood there unable to move away from him.
    “You’re a regular little Samaritan, aren’t you?” he asked, and she tried not to notice the sarcasm in the words.
    “Why not?” she asked defensively. “They’d help me if I needed it, I’m sure.”
    “Oh, I’m sure,” he echoed. “It sounds like some kind of paradise on earth, but I’m sure there must be some snags!” Without giving her the chance to deny or confirm it he went on, “You like it here, don’t you?”
    She nodded, realised he could not see the gesture, and sought for words instead. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly. “I wish you could-”
    Hastily she bit her lip, but he knew what she had so
    nearly said and his mouth twisted into its dry, bitter smile again.
    “So do I wish I could see it,” he said shortly. “But I can’t, so you can tell me about it!”
    “I can—” Leonora stared at him. Her heart was hammering relentlessly hard at her ribs and its pulse throbbing under the sensitive finger-tips that still held her wrist. “But, Mr. Connor, I -”
    “You’re the good Samaritan,” he interrupted. “Do your good deed for the day!”
    It was a crazy, unbelievable situation she found herself in and Leonora could not understand how it had happened. This disturbing and complex man